


Shortsighted

by maniacalmole



Series: Farsighted [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, M/M, new angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalmole/pseuds/maniacalmole
Summary: Aziraphale has one night to prove to the other angels that he and Crowley are not in love. To come up with a solution, he invites Crowley over...a plan that, admittedly, may have been a bit shortsighted....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You do not need to read the other stories from Farsighted to understand this one. Paradise Left has some parallels, and Especially Not To You takes place directly before this one, but I explain what happened enough that you will be able to follow the plot. Of course, you can also read all three :)

Fifteen hours Before

                There was a manuscript from the eleventh century that contained bible stories, illuminated with beautiful pigments, including one made of gold. The manuscript was riddled with holes, stains, and burn marks. But on the first page—you had to start somewhere—the gold paint on the big letter that started the story was chipped in one spot. Compared to the rest of the poor book, it was hardly noticeable. But Aziraphale. Aziraphale would _know_ it was there.

                He adjusted his magnifying glass and scrunched up his face. He dipped the fine-tipped brush into the gold paint. He had taken great trouble finding the right pigment. It was not that he cared that it was a precious material, but if he had used a paint that was simply gold-colored, it wouldn’t have matched. Painstakingly, he lowered the brush. Closer to the page, centimeter by centimeter. Millimeter by—

                There was an infuriating knock at the door. Aziraphale jerked upright, ramming his knee against the desk, and nearly upsetting the array of paints and inks he had laying out. He almost decided to ignore whoever was trying to bother him during off-hours, but then, he knew, they might knock again. He grumbled and rubbed his knee as he walked to the door.

                When he opened it, he had to do a double-take. The woman and man standing in front of him looked fairly normal. They were both wearing long coats* and had neat hair and eyes and noses and other things humans normally had. They were simply 100% more celestial than human beings normally were.

*The reason that angels, and other non-human beings, so often wear long overcoats or trench coats is because it is one article of clothing, rather than several, that they have to understand. A long coat is an easy way to cover up conspicuously poor clothing choices, such as unnecessary amounts of spandex and improperly placed brassieres.

                “Paniel,” Aziraphale gasped, “Daniel! Er.” He frowned. “Or should it be, Pan-yel and Dan-yel?”

                The angels stared at him.

                “Only, there’s a human name, ‘Daniel’, but they pronounce it ‘Dan-yel’ instead of ‘Dan-ee-el’—“

                “We are not here to talk about the linguistic evolution of humanity.”

                “Oh.” Aziraphale was disheartened. It was actually a fascinating topic, and one, he guessed, he had a better knowledge of than whatever they had come to discuss. “Well. Please, come in.”

                The angels did so. Paniel, the Power, one notch above Aziraphale, looked around curiously. Daniel was a Principality. He had spent more time on earth, which was probably why he gave the room one sweeping look, then turned back to Aziraphale with a raised eyebrow.

                “Is this your current work?” Paniel asked. “Fixing this up?”

                “Erm, yes.” Aziraphale edged towards his manuscript.

                Paniel nodded. “Good. Fixing up a rundown shop for the human who owns it.”

                “Oh, no, er, not the whole sh—“

                “That should look good on your report when we read it at your trial.”

                “Erm.”

                “I’m sorry.” Paniel looked embarrassed. “I interrupted you.”

                “That’s all right,” Aziraphale said, turning a bit pale. “Uh. Trial, did you say?”

                Paniel’s brow creased. “Yes. I suppose we ought to get right to business. Aziraphale, we are here to ask you to accompany us back to Heaven, based off of accounts of suspicious activity on your part.”

                “I beg your pardon?”

                “Daniel, please explain to him.”

                The angel cleared his throat. “Your trial will occur shortly after your arrival in Heaven. It will feature witnesses on your defense, as well as those who witnessed the proclamation of your crime—myself included—and your past record of service will be considered as reference to your character—“

                “Excuse me,” Aziraphale said indignantly. “But what is my ‘crime’? And why are you standing as a witness against me?”

                “It’s rude to interrupt,” Paniel said quietly.

                “I have to report what I was told,” Daniel replied.

                "And who ‘told you’ whatever it is you’re charging me with?”

                “Erm.”

                Daniel looked at Paniel, who nodded at him. He looked back at Aziraphale sheepishly.

                “Aamon.”

                Aziraphale gasped. “Daniel!”

                “I know he’s a demon, but—“

                “One I helped you track down! Was I not doing my job?” In truth, that was not why he had told Daniel about the demon. Aamon had threatened Crowley. Aziraphale had thought getting another angel to take care of him would make the problem go away, and he had certainly not foreseen any negative consequences. He retreated surreptitiously until he was standing behind his desk.

                “You were,” Paniel said. “But Aamon had some interesting things to say. Normally, we would not listen to demon gossip, but after an investigation, we unfortunately found evidence that his words may be true.”

                "And what,” Aziraphale said, putting on his best expression of derision, “did he say?”

                “That you were in love with a demon.”

                Aziraphale stared. Then he blinked. It might even be said that he gaped.

                “The demon,” Paniel continued, “Craw—croe—“ She squinted. “Crau—what was it again?”

                “Crowley,” Daniel said.

                “Yes, that’s right. It would appear that you have involved yourself in some sort of romantic entanglement with the enemy. We are very disappointed, Aziraphale. And, frankly—confused?”

                “Cra—cro—Crow—But that’s ridiculous!”

                Both of them frowned at him. Aziraphale gave a huff.

                “I am not in a romantic relationship with anyone,” he said. “Crowley and I are simply—erm—“ He was not sure if he could say ‘friends’. Would that be enough of a difference for them? He did not even know if they understood the distinction.

                “I looked over your phone records,” Daniel said, pulling out a scroll and reading it. “As well as reports on your previous attempts to combat the demon, which seem to have been rather ineffective.”

                “Oh, poo. What evil has he really done?”

                Aziraphale had said the words because of his state of disgruntlement. The other angels stared at him in shock.

                “Did you,” Paniel said, “just say ‘poo’? Aziraphale, we take this sort of thing very seriously.”

                “Although not this exact sort of thing,” Daniel added. “I don’t think your situation has ever come up before. Has it?”

                “No, thank heavens.”

                “I assure you, it has not come up _now_.” Aziraphale leaned forward, putting both hands on the desk in front of him, and looked at them earnestly. “I am not in a romantic relationship with Crowley. We are not in love!”

                Now, the angels looked sad.

                “I wish we could believe you,” Paniel said.

                “Well, then why don’t you?”

                “The evidence suggests—“

                “Poopoo the evidence!” Aziraphale walked around his desk towards them. “Yes, I did poopoo it. You are making a very serious claim. I, er.” He winced. “I assume the sentence for such a charge would be, erm….”

                "We’ve never given one,” Paniel said, “because it’s never happened before. But we do not take such issues lightly.”

                Aziraphale flinched. When an angel sees his life pass before his eyes, particularly an angel like Aziraphale, he does not just see his life. He sees the history of the world. The world he was meant to protect.

                He pulled himself upright and took a few more steps closer to the angels. He had one hand on his hip, and used the other to shake his finger at them, though that was really to hide the fact that his hand was shaking on its own.

                “You ought to be ashamed,” he told them. “You’ll be punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

                “Well.” Paniel and Daniel cast each other a glance. “If there was some way you could prove your innocence—“

                “I can prove it!”

                “Really? How?”

                Aziraphale gulped. “Erm. I don’t know. How do you prove that you’re not in love with someone?”

                He looked at them almost pleadingly. Daniel raised another eyebrow at him. “I don’t know.”

                “Well, you have to let me try.”

                "There’s no—“

                “Wait.” Paniel held out her hand to Daniel. She looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, I really must stop interrupting people. But, Aziraphale is right. We should give him the chance to prove himself.”

                “Thank you,” Aziraphale said, letting out his breath.

                “You have until nine tomorrow morning.”

                He did not reply. He was having trouble controlling his corporation.

                “That should be enough time, right, Daniel? Time passes differently here on earth.”

                “That’s ages,” the Principality replied. “They do so little, these humans. There’s no jubilation, hardly any rejoicing in the light of our Lord, and you should see how short their prayers of thanks are. It’s as though they consider them a chore.”

                “Very well, nine-o-clock it is. We will check back with you then. And, Aziraphale?”

                He nodded miserably. Paniel gave an embarrassed smile.

                “Don’t try to escape, all right? We’ll be able to track you down. Sorry to mention it, it’s just a formality, you know.”

                “Quite,” Aziraphale squeaked. Paniel gave him a wave goodbye, Daniel looked around the bookstore depressively, and the two of them walked through the door. The bell rang as it clanged shut. Aziraphale did not feel like his wings were any more secure for the sound of it.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is called in for help.

Twelve-and-a-half hours Before

                The Bentley pulled up next to Mr. Fell’s bookshop with a roar that turned into a groan as it came to a stop. Crowley felt like mimicking it.

                The demon took a moment to himself before leaving his car. She had served him well, the old thing. It was possible that he would never see her again. He almost felt like sitting there until someone arrived to drag him back to Hell. It would be less painful than the night ahead of him.

                But, here he was, optimist Crowley, called upon by an angel, and he was not going to let himself be defeated without squeezing every last drop of energy he had into an agonizing effort at survival.

                He opened the door and nearly fell out of it.

                He had received the call more than an hour ago. He hadn’t come over right away because he’d had to scream into a pillow for half an hour first. He had actually apologized to his plants for the awful noise. Better to leave them on a good note, after all this time.

                He slunk over to the door to the bookshop. Here, he paused again. He took a deep breath and stood up. He fixed his hair, not that it mattered, then let his hand drag down his face, over his glasses, closing his eyes. He opened the door.

                “Crowley!”

                “Hallo,” he said, his tone artificially bright. He plastered a grin onto his face, as though this were just a normal visit. Aziraphale ushered him inside. He must have been waiting by the door, something he never did. It only made Crowley more concerned.

                The angel shut the door behind him, then hurried off towards the kitchenette. “Come in,” he said, a bit out of breath. “I’ve made tea. Lots of tea.”

                “You really don’t need to announce that.”

                “Several kinds. From around the world. Er, I may have gone a bit overboard.”

                Crowley followed him to the back room, where the angel was setting up at least four teapots. “You don’t happen to have anything—stronger?”

                Aziraphale frowned at him. “We have a problem to solve, Crowley. We need to be able to think. If we don’t, then who knows what will happen?”

                “That’s what I’m saying.”

                Aziraphale filled a cup from the largest pot and handed it to him without a word. Crowley took it and breathed in the steam. It smelled like oranges. The scent mixed with the familiar smell of the angel’s bookshop. A bit musty. He didn’t hate it.

                Aziraphale sat at the other side of the little table. He fidgeted with his own teacup as he watched Crowley. “You don’t think I’ve caused you more trouble because of this, do you?” he asked. “I mean, by calling you?”

                “Oh, no,” Crowley said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Why would you think that?”

                “I expect,” Aziraphale said, “that they won’t be too interested in you. I mean, I’m sure that I’m the one they’re really concerned with. Besides, you’ll leave the shop long before they come back.”

                “Right, right.”

                 “I’m sure we’ll have something figured out by then.”

                Crowley grunted.

                “Once we figure it out, either way, then neither of us should have anything to worry about.”

                “Why _did_ you call me?” Crowley leaned forward across the table. He tried to look at the angel pointedly.

                Aziraphale sighed. “I couldn’t think of anything. _I_ know it’s not true. _You_ know it. But how can we make them believe us? Well, you’d always been good at talking to people. Convincing them of things.”

                “Yeah.” Crowley sat back in his chair. “But normally I’m convincing people to believe in lies. Not—” Not the other way around.

                “Not at convincing them to believe in the truth. Yes, I suppose that is different. But they’re _angels_. Shouldn’t they be able to see the truth?”

                “You’re an angel. Can you always tell when someone’s lying?”

                Aziraphale’s brow creased. “No, I suppose not.”

                “There you go, then,” Crowley said, and he burnt his mouth drinking his tea.

                Aziraphale sat musing for a while. Crowley drummed his fingers against the table. He watched the angel. He must have been deep in thought, but it looked as though he were staring intently at the china pattern on his cup. Crowley remembered when the Principality had used to watch humanity, only a handful of people at the time, millennia ago, from his post at the Garden wall. He hadn’t understood how he could stand still and watch something so small for so long, back then. He didn’t understand it now.

                “I don’t suppose....” Aziraphale spoke without shifting his gaze. “I don’t suppose you could talk to them? It might help them to see you, or us together—“

                “No!”

                Crowley had surprised himself with the harshness of his tone. Aziraphale looked up and regarded him worriedly.

                “No. You’re right,” he said. “It might be dangerous. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

                Crowley squirmed guiltily. “I don’t think it would work,” he said, “even if we tried it. They, er. They seem pretty convinced we’re—more than friends, just based on our phone records.”

                “They don’t even know what romance is,” Aziraphale said, irritated. “Except for the nineteenth century literary genre, and even that I doubt they’d understand. Maybe we could explain it to them. Write down a list of distinctions between romance and other forms of acquaintanceship.”

                “Oh, you have a list handy, do you?” Crowley asked. “A definition of love? Romance 101?”

                “Erm, it may be a bit difficult of a concept to pin down….”

                “I’m sure some Meg Ryan film’s done it. If you want to transform this into a movie night.” Crowley got up and started to pace the room.

                Aziraphale watched him. He sighed. “I have to do something,” he said. “Maybe I could write them a convincing speech. I’ve read enough on rhetoric, after all. I should be able to make a case.”

                Crowley shrugged and kept walking. He paced until it stopped getting rid of nervous energy, and just made him more nervous, instead. When he looked at Aziraphale again, he saw that he had grabbed some paper and pencils and was staring at them with a look of determination. The paper was blank.

                Crowley sat back down.

                He had been thinking about Eden lately, much more than usual. It was something he had kind of pushed to the corners of his mind for centuries, but something about this kept bringing it back up. Maybe it was because it felt like the end. Not as much as the averted Apocalypse had, but then, he’d been too busy trying to stop it to spend much time thinking about days gone by. Somehow, he felt like there wasn’t much he could do, this time around.

                He’d been afraid, then, of going against his orders, because he thought his own side could do worse to him than the end of the world. Ironic, that they’d made it this far, just for the same thing to happen to Aziraphale.

                Of course, in Eden, he’d gotten his divine retribution much more quickly. But not from Aziraphale. Maybe the angel really had believed they were both just doing their jobs. Or maybe he’d seen the way Crowley looked after what he did in the Garden, and assumed it had been enough.

                “Hey,” Crowley said.

                “Hm,” said Aziraphale.

                “Why d’you think it’s taken this long for them to get in contact with you?” Crowley asked. “I mean, not about this. But, you stopped the bloody Apocalypse. You broke almost every rule in the book. I did, too. Why’ve we lasted until now?”

                “It’s probably the protection Adam gave you,” Aziraphale said. Crowley made a face.

                “Why would Adam want to protect _me?_ ” he mumbled. He thought of the Garden and shuddered.

                Aziraphale gave him an odd look. “Because you wanted to stop Armageddon, dear boy.”

                “Oh, _that_ Adam.”

                Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. Crowley blushed.

                "Which Adam did you think I meant?” Aziraphale asked, a bit suspiciously.

                Crowley panicked. A whole bloody world of Adams, and he couldn’t think of a one. He desperately threw a fishing line into the deep recesses of his brain. He found a name. Unfortunately, he had never been any good at fishing.

                “Adam Smith,” he blurted out.

                Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Adam Smith.”

                "Yeh.”

                “The Scottish philosopher and economist?”

                “Erm. Yes.”

                Aziraphale wore an expression that did not indicate the slightest hope of understanding.

                “I met him once,” Crowley said defensively. “You could’ve meant him.”

                Aziraphale squinted at him for five more seconds. Crowley, from behind dark glasses, held his gaze. The angel dropped his suspicious expression. He looked tired.

                “Erm,” Crowley said. “We should…probably, get back to brainstorming.”

                “Yes.” Aziraphale returned to staring at the paper in front of him. Crowley watched the pencil in his motionless hand.

                They waited a while. Crowley gradually grew more relaxed. It didn’t make any sense, but then, what else was there to do? If you’re already in the worst case scenario, there’s not much to worry about anymore. It might be his last night on earth. He might as well enjoy it.

                Crowley stared at Aziraphale.

                The angel eventually looked up.

                “Well,” he said, “have you thought of anything?”

                “No,” Crowley admitted.

                “I was afraid of that,” Aziraphale sighed. “Maybe I _could_ write a really convincing speech….”

                Crowley fidgeted in his seat. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t calm at all. There was nothing he could do, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night goes on, and plans are...not exactly coming together....

Ten hours Before

                Aziraphale squinted at the paper before him. It glared at him with its emptiness. He had already written plenty. The problem was, it was all on paper crumpled at the bottom of the bin.

                Across the table came the sound of rustling as Crowley flipped through one of the books Aziraphale had asked him to read, just in case they mentioned anything about how trials in Heaven were supposed to work, or angelic law. There was also the sound of Crowley occasionally clicking his tongue.

                Aziraphale put a hand to his brow. He rubbed his thumb against the pencil in his other hand. _Words_ , he thought. _Where are you now?_

                Perhaps he could cite other great lovers from the past to create a contrast. Heloise and Abelard, although he didn’t quite approve of their methods….Achilles and Patroclus, Samson and Delilah…goodness, why did so many of these end horribly? Even Adam and Eve….but perhaps, there, he did have something….if he could only form the connection….find some way to show their love, so different from him and Crowley….it was on the tip of his tongue….if he could focus….

                Crowley clicked his tongue again. Aziraphale jumped in his seat, then glared at him.

                “Could you stop doing that, please?” he said stiffly.

                “Doing what?” Crowley said in as smooth a voice as possible. Aziraphale scowled.

                “You know what.”

                The serpent gave him a lazy grin. “I can’t read your mind, you know.”

                Aziraphale was about to retort, but instead a thought came to him. “I wonder if that’s the solution.”

                Crowley frowned. “That won’t convince them. Not everyone in love can read their partner’s—“

                “No, no. I mean, what if we got one of those fellows? A seer, or someone. One of those people who can read minds. If such a person exists.”

                Crowley shifted in his seat.

                “And then,” Aziraphale went on, eyes lighting up, “they could tell the others that we’re not in love. And to prove it to them, the seer could read their minds, have them pick a number, or something. One to one-million.”

                “Erm.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “That, uh. That might not work.”

                “Why not?”

                Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, think about it. Sorcery? Witchcraft? Heaven doesn’t exactly approve of those things, do they? So it might not look best if they see you cavorting with people like that.”

                Aziraphale sighed. “You may be right.”

                Crowley leaned back in his chair. “See what I mean.”

                “Well, then. I’ll just have to get back to writing.”

                Aziraphale noticed Crowley peering at the empty pages in front of him, but he ignored him and picked up his pencil again. This time, he would not crumple up the page.

 

Eight hours, forty-five minutes Before

                A while later, and the bin was overflowing.

                Aziraphale sighed. Crowley was whistling tunelessly. He had moved over to the old couch in the corner of the room. Aziraphale eyed the stack of books the demon had already skimmed through. So many pages written, so many pages read, and nothing to say gained from any of them. Aziraphale grabbed one of the books Crowley hadn’t gotten to yet and started flipping through it.

                Crowley made a popping noise with his lips.

                Aziraphale gave a start and looked up. “Did you find something?”

                “No.”

                “Oh.” Aziraphale, still tensed, pressed his lips together and adjusted his glasses, then looked back down at his own book.

                "You _know_ ,” Crowley said, “you’d be a lot more relaxed if we did have something to, erm, sooth our nerves. Just a glass of wine wouldn’t hurt.”

                “Crowley—“

                “Admit it. You’re having trouble focusing because you’re nervous, right?”

                “And alcohol always makes both of us so much more focused,” Aziraphale said wryly. The demon shrugged. He shook his head, and the demon sighed.

                “Okay, okay. Back to the books.”

                Aziraphale stared at the words in front of him. They _were_ starting to grow a bit fuzzy. Normally he could read for days on end. Now, everything seemed to be spinning. Perhaps it really was his nerves. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do to him if he failed. Would they send him away? Where was ‘away’, when it wasn’t Heaven or earth? Would there be books there?

                Crowley made a popping noise again.

                Aziraphale felt it like a bolt of lightning down the spine.

                “Fine,” he snapped. He slammed his book shut. Crowley looked up in alarm, and Aziraphale got to his feet. He stalked over to the cabinet.

                “What?” Crowley said.

                “Fine, fine, fine.” Aziraphale grabbed a bottle of something—it could have started as vegetable oil, for all he cared, it was a very fine vintage wine now—and brought it back to the table. Crowley grinned victoriously. Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling, too.

                “Now,” Crowley said, walking over, grabbing the bottle, and popping off the cork, “we’re getting somewhere.”

                “I hope so,” Aziraphale said, holding out a glass.

 

Seven hours Before

                Aziraphale stared blearily at his glass. He sloshed around the liquid inside, watching light refract through it. The color was so beautiful.

                He spilled some on the table.

                Crowley slowly raised his index finger, then pointed it at him, giggling. Aziraphale snickered.

                “Y—y’know,” he stammered. “Y’know who we need? Who we need, is Socrates.”

                “Hmm?”

                “That man,” Aziraphale said sagely, “could argue his way out of anything.”

                “Ohhhh.” Crowley nodded, grinning. “Yeah. Yeah. Didn’t he argue you into giving him your ssshoes?”

                Aziraphale made a face. “Hmm. Nyes.”

                Crowley sipped from his glass. Aziraphale watched him for a bit.

                “Maybe…” he said finally. “Maybe we could show them one of that Nutter woman’s proper—er. Pro—prophetics. Show it doesn’t mention us being n’love.”

                Crowley slowly set his glass down. He screwed up his face, staring at the table. “She doesn’t mention it,” he said. “I looked through it. _You_ should know that. Didn’ you read it?”

                “Yeh. Several times.” Aziraphale gave a hiccup. “Maybe we could fake n’entry.”

                "Think they’d be able to tell….”

                Aziraphale shrugged. He reached for the bottle, missing it several times before managing to grab it, and poured himself some more. Then he frowned at it uncertainly.

                “Listen,” Crowley said slowly. “We could tell them we hang around each other so much cause of the…the…the plan.”

                "The hmm?”

                “The ff—the eff—the plan.”

                “What plan?”

                “The, erm. The effervescent plan.”

                “That’s not it,” Aziraphale said with a frown. “That’s, like. That’s…bubbly.”

                “The bubbly plan! That reminds me.” Crowley reached for the bottle, which did not, in fact, contain anything bubbly at all. He took a sip. He frowned. “Whats’it?”

                “I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted, his memory currently drowned.

                “The inevitable plan?”

                “No.”

                “Hmph. Might as well be. The, euh…the ephemeral plan? Ethereal?”

                “No, that’s me.”

                “Right, ri—the plan, it’s…”

                "Ineffable!”

                “Yes!” Crowley banged his fist against the table. He roared triumphantly, “The unfuckable plan!”

                “ _No!_ ”

                They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Aziraphale coughed.

                “Erm. I don’t think this is working.”

                “No,” Crowley agreed. “All right. Sobering up….”

                They winced as they miracled away the alcohol. When they were done, Crowley, still rubbing his temples with one hand, took the bottle with the other and threw it away. Aziraphale got a rag and patted the spill he had made, a bit halfheartedly. It had already stained.

                Crowley returned and sat back down. “Er. I don’t suppose we _could_ say it’s part of the ineffable plan?”

                “We’ve already used that one before,” Aziraphale said. “To get them to let us off on a pretty big one, too. I’m, ah. I’m not sure they’d be too happy with us using it again.”

                “Yeah.”

                Crowley looked down at his hands, resting on the table. Aziraphale found himself glad the demon was wearing his glasses. He didn’t think he’d like to see his expression.

                Aziraphale reached across the table and patted him on the arm.

                “We’ll save it as a backup plan,” he said, giving a little smile. Crowley gave a smaller one in return. Aziraphale’s brow creased. “Erm. If you’d, uh—that is, we’ve been here for a long while, and we’ve already put in a lot of effort. So if you’d like to go—“

                Crowley looked up.

                “I mean, we could keep trying,” Aziraphale said. “But if we can’t come up with anything, and you want to avoid seeing them, I would understand—“

                “They won’t be here for hours,” Crowley said, his voice sounding more upbeat. He stretched out his arms and cracked his neck. Then he clapped his hands together. “We’ll keep at it until we come up with something better.”

                “Right.” Aziraphale smiled. “Good. Let’s get back to it, then.”


	4. Chapter 4

Five hours, forty-five minutes Before

                “I mean, it’s not that I don’t like you.”

                “Yeah?”

                “It’s just—“ Aziraphale swirled around his fortieth cup of tea. “—‘In love’, it’s a bit of an overstatement, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not as though we go around swooning and sighing over each other, is it? It’s not like we’re writing volumes of love poetry and calling each other ridiculous pet names.”

                “Right, right!” Crowley agreed. “You don’t call me ‘sweetie’, or ‘honey’, or ‘here’s looking at you, kid.’ And I don’t call you—well, I _do_ call you angel, but that’s only because you _are_ one.”

                “Exactly.”

                “And it’s not like I’m serenading you from outside your window every night.”

                “You did sing that one time. In the car.”

                Crowley gave him a sidelong glance. “I thought you were asleep.”

                “You had a very nice voice.”

                “It was more mumbling than singing, anyway.”

                “And anyhow, that’s hardly worth putting me on trial. I mean, if we _were_ doing all that—“

                “Right, if we _were_.”

                “Then I wouldn’t be surprised if they did threaten to send me away from Earth,” Aziraphale said.

                Crowley heaved a sigh, without realizing himself.

                “I mean, really,” Aziraphale went on after a moment. “There’s acquaintanceship, and then there’s love. And they’re simply not the same thing.”

                “Any human could tell them the difference,” Crowley said.

                “Yes! There’s mutual respect, and, and affection—and then there’s love. Not the same at all.”

                A crease appeared on Crowley’s brow. “Yeah.”

                “So what if we talk on the phone more than anyone else? Who else am I going to call?”

                “Ghostbusters?”

                “What?”

                “Nothing.”

                “Who else should I be calling?” Aziraphale said, growing increasingly flustered. “An angel? It’s not like any of _them_ have phones.”

                “Right? And who else would _I_ call?” Crowley added. “I could be befriending humans, I suppose. But surely they’re glad I’m not doing that? Am I right?”

                “Completely right,” Aziraphale said, raising his cup* in the demon’s direction.

*Just tea this time. But they were both still very tired.

                “They should be glad I’m spending all my time with you. Or else who knows what I’d get up to?”

                “Could be worse.”

                “And so what if we enjoy spending time together? Who cares?”

                “Quite right,” Aziraphale said. “So what if I’d rather enjoy the wonders of the Earth with an old friend than by myself?”

                “Yeah?” Crowley said. Then, he added quickly, “I mean, what difference does it make if—if—if you’re the person I go to first? For inviting to concerts, and museums, and lunch, and things? I mean, I’ve met millions of humans, but I’ve known you for thousands of years, and, and if I still never meet anyone I’d rather do things with than you, it’s just—“

                “It’s just because we’re both so comfortable with each other,” Aziraphale said, helpfully.

                “Yeah! Right.” Crowley made a face. “Which is, uh, not the same thing as being in love. It’s just.”

                “Personal preference,” Aziraphale suggested.

                “Yeah,” Crowley said lamely. He tapped his hand on the table. They both stared at each other.

                Aziraphale blinked.

                “I think,” the angel said. “I think I’m going to make some more tea.”

                And then he did.

 

Four hours, fifteen minutes Before

                Aziraphale was a Principality of great focus.

                He liked to examine things until he properly understood them. This could take days, weeks, months, or years. He had once studied only a few pages of a manuscript for almost a decade. He could patiently stare at a rock until he had memorized every nook and cranny.

                But now, trying to figure out what to do, and having absolutely zero ideas come into his mind, for even just a few hours? Now he was very, very bored.

                There was a fly buzzing around the room. Aziraphale watched it go. Round and round. Finally, it settled. On the corner of Crowley’s glasses. The demon had his chin resting on his arms, which were crossed on the table. He twitched. The insect took flight again. Crowley groaned.

                The fly buzzed around Aziraphale’s own glasses for a bit. He managed to raise a hand to swat at it. It moved just far enough away that it could keep coming back again without actually being hit.

                Aziraphale watched it out of the corner of his eye. Then he peered at Crowley.

                “Er,” the angel said. “I say, dear boy. Didn’t you mention once or twice that you could do strange things with your tongue?”

                Crowley looked at him blankly. Aziraphale glanced at the fly. Crowley looked away.

                “Not that kind of tongue,” he said, sounding a bit offended. “I’m not the _frog_ of Eden.”

                Aziraphale sighed. “Guess I’d better get the paper, then.”

                He fetched the newspaper and rolled it up. When he returned, Crowley was sitting up, looking interested for the first time in a while.

                “I’m surprised you’d even do that sort of thing,” he said. Aziraphale blinked. Crowley tilted his head in the direction of the fly. “All God’s Creatures, isn’t it? Great and small, and all that?”

                Aziraphale scoffed and readied the paper. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

                “So you’re willing to let that one slide this time?” the demon went on.

                “Crowley, don’t act as though I’m betraying my post as a servant of Heaven if I dispose of this one fruit fly.”

                “Well—“

                And Aziraphale could hear the familiar note of Crowley about to philosophize creeping into the demon’s voice, so he interrupted him.

                “Look, you can argue for a black and white interpretation of the world,” the angel said. “That there’s good and bad. Or you can say that there are grey spots, and that it’s all very complicated, and we can discuss the implications of this for millennia, but sometimes you just have to swat a fly. And you can read all you want into it. You can get yourself all kinds of confused and flustered. But sometimes, it’s really so simple that you can step back and say, ‘No, not right now. I’m not going to fret so much over this now. I know that it is acceptable for me to swat this fly. How do I know it? I simply do.’ Now don’t move, or you’ll make it fly away again.”

                Aziraphale held up the paper and squinted at the fly, taking aim. Crowley’s quiet laugh made him stop again, in spite of himself. The demon was smiling at him.

                “I used to be able to make you doubt yourself better than that,” he said. There was an odd tone to his voice. A little like nostalgia, but slightly different.

                “Yes,” Aziraphale said. “You used to.”

                “But not now?”

                Aziraphale smiled, then turned to chase the fly into the other room. “Well, I eventually learned from you how to do it all by myself.”


	5. Chapter 5

Three hours Before

                “What is love?” Aziraphale asked.

                Crowley raised his head, which had been sinking lower and lower, and was dangerously close to resting on the table, and looked at him. “What?”

                “I mean, what is it, really?” Aziraphale counted off on his fingers, “Romantic love, paternal love, neighborly love. There are many different kinds. So, what differentiates romantic love?”

                “Mm.” Crowley gave a noncommittal nod, then rested his head on the table after all.

                “If we can solidify the term, perhaps we can explain it to them, too,” Aziraphale pressed. He felt that he was on the verge of something. “What makes people say they’re in love? What is it that encompasses a romantic relationship?”

                “Enjoying spending lots of time together?” Crowley said, not raising his head, his tone a bit dry.

                “Well, if either twelve hours or a few millennia count as ‘lots’, that certainly won’t help us.”

                “Wanting them to be the last person you speak to at night.”

                “I don’t really go to bed every night,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “Or most nights, really. It’s different when you don’t need sleep, I suppose. I’m not sure what that one means.”

                “Liking them more than anyone else.”

                Aziraphale frowned.

                “You feel the best,” Crowley went on, “the most like yourself, when you’re around them. Being with them inspires you to be a better person. Um.” Crowley scratched his head. “Something about wanting to touch their rear?”

                “Crowley!”

                “What? I censored it!”

                Aziraphale took a sip of tea, which he found was ice cold, to calm himself, then grimaced and pushed the cup far away. “Anyway,” he said, “we’d need something more visible. A physical manifestation of love that can be proven, and thereby, disproven. Oh, if only they could read our auras, and see the lack of romantic interest there. Though, again, they won’t approve of us getting a witch to do it for them. Quite inconvenient.”

                “I can’t take it anymore.”

                Aziraphale looked up at Crowley in concern.

                “This, thiss, sssitting.” The demon made a sour face. “What’s the point in having legs if they keep bloody falling asleep?”

                “Mine could use a stretch, too, I suppose,” Aziraphale replied. He yawned. “Oh, dear. I wonder what time it is.”

                “Don’t,” Crowley said with an even worse scowl. It looked more nervous than angry.

                “I’m sure there are still hours until they’ll return,” Aziraphale said, a bit fretfully.

                Crowley gave a shrug, which turned into a full-out cat stretch. He reached his arms across the table and groaned, letting his forehead hit the table and staying there. Aziraphale stood up and walked towards the door, giving him a pat on the head as he passed him.

                “Come on, my dear,” he said. “Let’s at least take a turn about the shop to stretch our legs. Maybe that will perk us up enough to give us some fresh ideas.”

                Crowley took in a deep breath, his shoulders rising as his chest inflated, then deflated as he stood up. He followed Aziraphale while mumbling something about not being in a Jane Austen novel.

                They walked into the main part of the shop. It was full of shadows. The only light came from the streetlights outside. Through the windows Aziraphale could see the dark sky. It was too late for anyone to be walking by. He put his hand to his mouth. Time was running out.

                Crowley walked past him, slowly, towards the window. The demon turned and regarded a shelf of books, gingerly touching the spine of one of them. They were bathed in orange light, the glow making them look almost as though they were on fire. Crowley grimaced.

                “Well.” Aziraphale rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, hands clasped in front of himself. His brow was creased, but he forced a smile. “Any ideas popping into your head?”

                “Hmm.” Crowley turned away from the book and looked out the window, hands in his pockets. “Can’t say that they are. Guess the short walk of ten meters wasn’t enough to spark my creativity. Hey.” He turned to Aziraphale. “Whad’you say we take a break from this? We’re clearly not getting anywhere. Why don’t we, I dunno, watch a movie, or something?”

                “A—a movie?” Aziraphale sputtered. “At a time like this? Dear boy, are you out of your senses?”

                Crowley shrugged. “Well, why not? What can we do? Might as well spend the night well, since it might be our last on Earth.”

                Aziraphale strode forward and frowned at him. “Don’t even joke about such a thing.”

                Crowley looked taken off guard by his serious tone. His eyebrows were raised for a moment above his dark glasses, then they pulled together into a scowl. “Whatever,” the demon said. He walked around Aziraphale. “What do I know, anyway? I’m just here for the hours of sitting quietly.”

                Aziraphale huffed for a while before following him. The demon _hadn’t_ been much help, really, although he had to admit he was still glad he’d been there. Aziraphale hadn’t come up with much, either. Crowley had gone back into the other room. Aziraphale found him slouched on the sofa. He did not say anything when Aziraphale walked into the room.

                The angel sighed, then sat down at the table, and went back to work.

 

Two hours, fifteen minutes Before

                “We usually work so well together,” the angel said with a sigh. “I don’t understand why we can’t figure this out.”

                “Don’t you?” Crowley seemed irritated—but there was also a sort of frantic undertone to his words.

                Aziraphale frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

                “Think about what we’re _doing_ , angel. What we’re trying to do, I mean. We’ve been around each other, what, about six thousand years? We’ve had our Arrangement for, what, another thousand? Think of what we’re trying to prove. Doesn’t it seem a little farfetched to you?”

                “Well, I can see how it may seem farfetched to them. But we’re not in love. It’s clear to me.”

                “Then _you_ explain it to them.” Crowley’s voice had risen. “I can’t. You called me here to explain something impossible to people who’ll want to kill me as soon as they see me—“

                “I called you here for help,” Aziraphale said. “Not to talk to them. I was never planning on making you do that. There’s no need to take that tone with me, Crowley, it’s not as though I call you that often—“

                “No,” Crowley said, with a scornful laugh, “that you don’t.”

                “It’s not as though I ask for _your help_ , that often.”

                “Oh, really?” Crowley leaned forward and said, emphatically, “Then _what_ was the Arrangement for?”

                Aziraphale stared. Then he grew angry. “Don’t ask me,” he said, “as though I’m the only one who made it.”

                Now it was Crowley’s turn to stare. It was a blank, glasses stare, but Aziraphale could feel the coolness coming from it. But then, the demon sagged. He no longer looked angry, only tired.

                “You invited me here,” Crowley said. “You wanted my advice. My advice is, give up.”

                “Crowley—“

                “Or at least, if you’re going to spend your last night refusing to do anything that makes living on Earth worthwhile, then don’t drag me down with you.”

                “You’re supposed to be the optimist,” Aziraphale said. “Well, excuse me for not giving up. I’ll do this without you, if I have to. Heaven knows I got along just fine for plenty of millennia before our Arrangement.” He opened a book at random.

                “Oh, right.” Crowley had stood up. “What do you need me for? I’ve never influenced your life anyway.” He strode around the table and stood in front of him. “Except for being the only one to get you to go out and live in the world you’re so desperate to remain in.”

                Aziraphale glowered up at the demon, who was smirking at him.

                “Tell me again, angel,” he said. “Why do you want to stay on earth so bad?”

                “I beg your pardon? Do you really think I’ve stayed here for millennia for no reason? I love the earth!”

                “Yeah, yeah.” Crowley looked away. “And you went through all that trouble to save it, right? With me. So of course you like it. Sure. But unless I’m around, you hardly step outside your bookshop. Unless it’s to go to some other stuffy building, to gather more pointless objects, to bring _back_ to your stuffy bookshop.”

                Aziraphale found this rather hypocritical, considering the fact that Crowley had slept through a few centuries, himself. “Don’t you talk to me about pointless objects,” he said. “You’ve spread greed into the hearts of plenty of humans, and don’t act like you haven’t. You like to own _things,_ too. What about your car? Or your fancy television set? Don’t act like _I’m_ the one who—“

                “Honestly, Aziraphale, if you’re going to harp on the whole ‘you’re evil and I’m not’ thing again, I might as well fall asleep now. Besides, I actually use the things I own. They don’t just sit around on shelves in my cluttered little flat.”

                “I _use_ the things I own,” Aziraphale said. “I—well, they collect memories, and—and I thought you knew me better than that.”

                “The problem is that you always remember things, but never notice what’s going on right in front of you. In the here and now! I guess I’m just sick of it. Sick of having to drag you out of your flat just so you’ll wake up and see the world. You know so much about things, angel, but they’re all things that are dead and gone. Because you’re always looking back.” Crowley threw up his arms. “If I hadn’t been here for millennia, history would have passed you by, and you would have missed it! Why don’t you ever pick up the phone and call me to go anywhere, angel? You call me one time, and it’s to sit for hours in a room that doesn’t even have any blessed windows. I know you want to stay on the Earth. Is it so you can keep looking at pictures of it in books? You try so hard to protect something, but for what? What do you _want_ , Aziraphale?”

                Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth several times. He was hurt, and also confused, because in truth, he didn’t know the answer to the demon’s question. To be fair, hardly anyone really knows what they want, but Aziraphale did not know this, and could not take it as any comfort. He could think of no comeback to that, so he said peevishly, “How would you know how I spend all of my days? I don’t only go places when you ask, you know.”

                Crowley winced. Then he smirked. “Really?” he said. “When’s the last time you went somewhere new?”

                Aziraphale blinked. “I—just the other day, I went to the Louvre.”

                “Somewhere _new_ , angel.”

                “Well, I’ve been on the earth for a long time! There aren’t many new places left.”

                “Fine. When’s the last time you were actually present for a significant event? The Apocalypse doesn’t count, obviously.”

                “I was there at the Great Exhibition in 1851.”

                “ _I_ was there,” Crowley said. “You were there because I told you I was going, and you said, ‘well, I’d better keep you from stirring up trouble.’”

                “Oh.” Aziraphale’s face fell. “Well. I was at the inauguration of George Washington as first president of the coloni—the, um, states.”

                “Really? The 1700s is the best you can do?”

                “I saw the Titanic set out to sea!”

                “I was there, too. And before you say anything, I had nothing to do with it.”

                “Just because you were there, doesn’t mean I went there because of _you,_ ” Aziraphale snapped.

                “Hmm. Sure.”

                “Well maybe I always assume you _will_ call, if there’s something worth seeing. Is there something so wrong with that? Anyway, you have no right to condemn me for collecting things. I like to remember parts of my past—parts of the world’s past, which _I was there for_.”

                “But they’re in the past—“

                “And I don’t want to forget it just yet!” Aziraphale sighed, running his hand over his face. “Did it never occur to you, dear man, that I can’t move on as quickly as you do? I like to keep things around because it helps me process all the things I’ve seen on this beautiful, bizarre planet. I have witnessed great moments in history. I do go places. And I collect souvenirs. I know you understand why I like at least some of them. You’re usually _interested_ in the newest relic that I’ve found, because you were there, too. You remember, too.”

                He was relieved to see Crowley look a bit sheepish at that. He went on,

                “Or at least, you’re usually polite enough to pretend to be interested. Well, I’m sorry if my tendency to focus on the past bores you. It’s how I look at things. I’m not always brimming with insight about the complexity of humanity the way you are the moment anything happens. Sometimes it takes me a bit of contemplation before I can fully comprehend the magnitude of an event. It’s the way I am.”

                Aziraphale looked at the shelf to his right. Among its crowded contents, there was a ring, worn by a wealthy Mesopotamian woman, millennia ago. He picked it up carefully and looked at it. “I was there,” he said, softly. “For all of it. I notice humanity’s creations. Of course I love them.”

                He looked up. Crowley was staring at the ring, too. He looked a bit awed. Aziraphale wondered, then realized, with more certainty, that he knew how old it was.

                The demon looked up at him. He seemed abashed. Aziraphale sighed.

                “Just like you do.”

                Crowley’s expression cleared. “I’m sorry.”

                Aziraphale blinked. “Oh.”

                Crowley laughed quietly. “Are you surprised to hear a demon apologize?”

                “No,” Aziraphale said quickly. He sighed. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

                “I’ve apologized to you before.”

                “I know. _I’m_ sorry.”

                Crowley nodded. His face changed. It could have been a smile, a small one. He said, “Do you really think I’m ‘brimming with insight’?”

                Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, of course. You have far better things to say than most philosophers I’ve ever read.”

                Crowley looked surprised by his genuine tone.

                Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder. “I think perhaps,” he said softly, “we’ve been rather unjust with each other.”

                Crowley twitched his shoulder. He scoffed, “Justice isn’t exactly up my alley.”

                “You mean it’s not your job. A person who’s not a doctor can still try to save a life. Don’t think you have me fooled.”

                Crowley was clearly taken off guard. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him.

                “Now who looks surprised?” the angel said with a smile. He removed his hand, and a wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “But, I think maybe, that’s _my_ fault. I’ve known what you’re really like for a long time, but I—sometimes, the things I say….I think perhaps I’ve been less just towards you, in the past.”

                “Not this time,” Crowley said. “I was stupid. Acting like I don’t get why you’re so interested in artifacts and museums. I _know_ you, Aziraphale.” He sighed. “I guess I’ve just been cooped up in here for too long.”

                Aziraphale chuckled. “Look at us. Bickering like, like we’re—“

                “Mortal enemies fighting for control of the earth?”

                “Gosh. I forgot we used to do that.”

                “Really?” Crowley sounded incredulous. He laughed. “Well. Good.”

                He turned, and walked into the kitchenette. After an awkward moment, Aziraphale followed him.

                “I mean,” the angel said, “I didn’t _forget_. It’s just been. Well, a very long time.”

                Crowley was pouring himself a glass of wine. “I’m just going to have _one glass_.”

                “I won’t stop you.”

                “Here, then. For your nerves.” Crowley handed him a glass. “And mine.”

                Aziraphale held his out in the form of a toast. “To memories,” he said. “The bad and the good. Though, mostly, the good.”

                Crowley clinked his glass against the angel’s, and they drank.

                “And, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “I _don’t_ think you should give up. We—we won’t give up.”

                Aziraphale nodded. The two looked at each other for a moment longer.

                Then, they got back to work.

                Crowley assured Aziraphale that he was fine, and that there was no point in taking a break just because he was getting antsy. They only had a few hours left. Aziraphale went back to the books, because it was the only way he knew. Crowley whistled again, and Aziraphale recognized the tune this time, although he didn’t know from where. He didn’t mind it at all.


	6. Chapter 6

One hour Before

                “You were right.”

                “Mm?” Crowley looked up at him inquisitively.

                God, he would miss that face, if he ended up banned from earth. Even those silly sunglasses.

                Aziraphale had made some more tea, and it had done the demon good. He was looking like his old self again. Crowley had worn many different faces over the millennia, but he’d had this one for a long time now. It was the one face Aziraphale had grown used to during his time on earth. Of _course_ he spent time with him. Of course they’d grown closer. Why couldn’t the other angels understand that?

                “About being cooped up too long,” Aziraphale said. “And needing a break. And, well, spending the night well.”

                What would have happened if Crowley hadn’t been the _only_ person around in the beginning? If Aziraphale hadn’t been the only Principality left on earth, or if the other Cherubs hadn’t all gone and left the moment the Garden had been closed off? Aziraphale would have remained friends with more of the other angels, he supposed. More had been stationed on earth once the human numbers began to rise, but by then, Aziraphale had pretty much settled into things.

                “What did you have in mind?” Crowley asked.

                “I thought we could take a walk,” Aziraphale said. “Just a little ways. That won’t attract Heaven’s attention enough to make them send anyone to check up on us.”

                “What about our plan? Er, the one we don’t have.”

                “It’s not exactly coming together, is it? I don’t think I can sit here anymore. There hasn’t been a thought in my head in an hour. It’s just waiting. I haven’t felt like this since the third century.”

                He hadn’t had any _useful_ thoughts, but he had been thinking about other things, instead. Like how the angels who had come down to earth centuries after the expulsion from the Garden tended to take a different approach to living among humanity. That is, they rarely dealt with humans at all, unless they were answering prayers. They didn’t participate in the human experience. ‘Culture’ was an enigma to them, not to mention food. Then, Aziraphale reasoned, if he’d been surrounded by angels from the start, he probably wouldn’t have gotten accustomed to eating and going to shows and admiring art and architecture and _consuming_ food and beverages for pleasure, and all that, in the first place. He wouldn’t exactly know he had anything to miss.

                “As long as you don’t think Heaven’s wrath will rain down upon us if we leave the building,” Crowley said, “I’m game. Let’s go.”

                Aziraphale agreed, and, after stretching their legs, they walked out of the room, then out of the bookshop into the cool night air.

                It was still dark out, but the kind of dark that has an unease about it, as though it knows it’s going to be beaten out by the sun any minute. The pitch black was fading to become grey, though there were no rays of sunlight visible yet. The stillness from the darkest hours was just beginning to lift. Every now and then, a bird gave a cautious chirp, then decided it was still too early, and the roads were silent once more.

                Aziraphale and Crowley walked down the pavement in no particular direction. It was a bit chilly, enough to keep their hands in their pockets, but not enough for them to need a heavier coat. They walked in calm silence that should not have matched their situation, but did, strangely, reflect their mood.

                Aziraphale watched Crowley out of the corner of his eye. Of course, Crowley would have still been there, even if there had been more angels on Earth from the beginning of time. Aziraphale could have still come in contact with him some way or another. He still could have shown Aziraphale that there was more to the humans than the prayers they sent to Heaven. He might have still gotten him into all his old interests. Tempted him into trying things. _Not that he had to tempt very hard_ , he thought, _although he was good at his job_. He admitted, the idea made him feel better. Would he even be himself if he didn’t have all his interests and hobbies? They were just little things. Victorian handkerchiefs. Ming porcelain. Buttons from centuries from all around the world. _You’d still be yourself if things had been different, you’d just be a different yourself. It’s not something to get all sentimental about_ , said a small voice in his head. The rest of his thoughts and personality glared at it, and it went away.

                “The moon’s already gone,” Crowley said. Aziraphale looked up. The sky was indeed bare.

                “That’s a pity,” he said. _I would have liked to have seen it, before_ —but he did not speak this thought out loud.

                “It must be getting close to morning,” Crowley said. He stopped walking for a second, as though realizing what that meant, then continued on, shaking his head. He said, probably to change the subject, “Remember when they landed on the moon, for the first time?”

                “What a day,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “Or was it night?”

                “I don’t remember. It seems like so long ago. Although, to be honest, the Roman Empire feels about as long ago. Weird, right?”

                “I know what you mean,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley looked pleased.

                “Yeah,” he said. “Time, right? Humans live such short lives, but they do so much with them. The moon landing shouldn’t feel that long ago to us.” He made a face. “A lot of things feel like long ago. Even the end of the world.”

                “The end of the world that wasn’t,” Aziraphale said, and he nodded, to show that he understood. “We’ve been living with humans so long. They must be rubbing off on us.”

                “Yeah.” Crowley tilted his head up at the sky. “Do you think they’ll ever live there?”

                “Live where?”

                “On the moon. Do you think they’ll ever spread out across the galaxy? They spread all over Earth, after all. That always amazed me.”

                “You never know,” Aziraphale replied. “They do tend to do marvelous things, don’t they? I suppose it’s all part of the ineffable plan.”

                Crowley stopped. They had reached the top of a hill, the largest on the street they had been walking on. Crowley gave him a look. “I thought you didn’t use that phrase anymore?”

                “It got us out of quite a lot of trouble, though, didn’t it?” Aziraphale said with a small laugh. “I thought you’d grown to like the word.”

                Crowley shrugged, in his typical, nonchalant way. Aziraphale would miss that, too.

                “It’s a bit better when you look at what it really means differently,” Crowley said. After a pause, he added, with half a smile, “I’ve grown to like more than a few things since then, I guess.”

                A breeze blew by, but Aziraphale felt warm enough standing there, anyway. _I don’t mind not seeing the moon, so much_ , he thought. _Maybe they won’t ban me from Earth, after all. But if it is my last night here, there are other things I would have missed more_. Like reading, even if what he had been reading tonight hadn’t helped him, and taking a walk on the planet he loved, and sharing it with an old friend.

                Crowley was still facing the empty night sky, which was growing even lighter. He mumbled, so quietly that Aziraphale almost didn’t hear him, “Poor puzzled moon.” Before the angel could ask what he meant, he started walking again. Aziraphale followed him.

                The street went down and up, and by the time they reached the top of the next hill, the sun was beginning to rise. Orange with a hint of pink was illuminating the horizon. He could see the colors growing as he watched them, getting brighter and brighter. It was breathtaking.

                Aziraphale found he had been gazing at it in awe. He turned to Crowley.

                Crowley had been staring at him. At the angel’s glance, he looked away, facing the sunrise.

                “You could appreciate it more without those glasses, you know,” Aziraphale said. He found himself speaking softly, perhaps to avoid breaking the stillness of the morning. There was no one else around.

                Crowley took off the glasses and put them in his pocket. He squinted at the sun, then smiled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been outside without these on.”

                Crowley’s face was pinkish-orange in the light. Aziraphale looked down at his own hands, and saw that they were, too. He looked back up, and the two of them watched the sun peek over the edge of the horizon, then slowly climb upwards to shine on them brighter.

                After a while, Aziraphale began to hear noises. There was the sound of cars coming from a few blocks away, and the occasional sound of people talking. He thought about Crowley’s eyes, and stepped closer to him, touching his arm.

                “We should go,” he said.

                Crowley nodded, but he did not put his glasses back on. They turned and walked the other way.

                The walk back seemed shorter than it had on the way there, as walks tended to do. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley was looking at him most of the way.

                It was light by the time they reached the shop. They had been gone for a little under an hour. The angels weren’t supposed to arrive before nine, and it was only almost eight. Crowley opened the door, and they walked inside. Aziraphale left the closed sign on the door.

                He had been going to say that they could sit in the front, for a bit, where it was lighter, but Crowley kept walking. They went to the back room, and both of them sat at the table, where they had spent most of their past fifteen hours. Aziraphale felt as though something were caught in his throat. Not long now. He tried to steady his breathing. He remembered that he didn’t really need to breathe, and, maybe, never would need to again.

                “Since who knows what’s coming next….” Crowley’s voice surprised Aziraphale. He shook himself out of his thoughts and looked up at him. “Something I always wanted to ask you,” Crowley said.

                “Yes.”

                “What’s with the fingernails?”

                He hadn’t been expecting that. His hands were folded on the table in front of him. Crowley reached across and picked one up.

                “I mean, it’s not like you generally care that much about looks. You try to keep up appearances, I guess. To an extent, anyway.”

                He let go. Aziraphale pulled both of his hands an inch closer to himself, then looked down at them.

                “But it’s not like you wear the finest clothes,” Crowley went on. “And you keep them forever. These have got to be fifty years old.” He stood up and walked a few steps away. He said, “Your hands are _nice_.”

                “For someone who appreciates luxury,” Aziraphale said, “I’m surprised _you’ve_ never gotten a manicure. I could take you—er.” He frowned. “Well, maybe I won’t be able to, after—“ The irony of talking about such a mundane subject, under such circumstances, hit him. He finished lamely, “I could tell you the names of some places.”

                Crowley had gotten very tense, probably thinking the same thing Aziraphale had been. He forced his shoulders to relax. “Yeah. You could take me sometime.”

                _I’ll miss your optimism_ , Aziraphale thought.

                Crowley paced slowly. “I’m just wondering, because sometimes you keep things really nice, and at other times you’re a bit...unkempt.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Your wings?”

                “Oh.” The angel stood up. “Hold on. When have you seen my wings? It must’ve been ages.”

                “At the—er—remember?”

                “Oh. Yes.” The end of the world that wasn’t. Aziraphale was surprised that the demon remembered what they looked like. They had been rather distracted at the time. “Well, I can’t see my wings, I suppose. It makes it harder to keep them groomed.”

                “And obviously, you can’t see your hair.”

                The angel puffed himself up, but before he could snap a retort, Crowley went on, “Is it because you can see your hands, or because you want them to be clean so they don’t mess up your books?”

                Aziraphale deflated in surprise. He rather liked that idea.

                Crowley kept pacing. “Messy wings, neat hands.”

                Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s hands. Thin fingers. He knew they tended to be cold. He knew because he had held one of them, before. At the end of the world. He had extended his own hand, his right one. He tried to remember which of Crowley’s he had held his with, and for how long.

                “Disaster bookshop, mint condition books,” Crowley said. “Course, that’s part of your strategy. Messy hair, tidy clothes—not stylish, mind, just tidy.” The demon sat down on the sofa and leaned back. He rested his elbow on the sofa’s back, his arm bent, his fist pressed against his face. “It’s like you only keep up appearances for what you can see.”

                “Well, I can see my hands. When you read, you have to look at them a lot.”

                “Yeah. But, I think I’ve got it figured out. I think I finally know what it is.” Crowley grinned at him. He had the excited look he got whenever he had come up with a new theory, one to make sense of this contradictory world. “You’re shortsighted.”

                “Shortsighted?”

                “Yeah. Cause, see, you can be really observant sometimes. But only with little things. Not little as in unimportant, I just mean the actual size. Books, collectibles, stuff like that. When it comes to the big picture you can be—“ Crowley’s voice was starting to trail off. “You can be—“

                “A bit oblivious?” Aziraphale said quietly. He stared at Crowley’s hand, where his knuckles were pressed into his cheek. His eyes traveled over to meet the demon’s. Crowley looked away.

                Aziraphale walked over and sat at the other end of the sofa. Crowley moved his arm down by his side.

                “You used to be able to see across the whole world,” he said. “You could watch the humans from the Garden Gate. Do you remember that?”

                “I think I like watching them from a closer vantage point, now,” the angel replied with a small smile.

                Crowley nodded. “Another question,” he said. “Do you need those glasses?”

                Aziraphale paused. “No.” He just wore them out of habit. He took them off and placed them on his lap. He looked at Crowley.

                He was facing straight ahead. He still was not wearing his sunglasses, but his face was expressionless. Nothing for Aziraphale to read.

                Aziraphale cleared his throat. He felt his heart beating faster. What a human thing to feel. It wasn’t just the part of him that was human, though, that he was noticing. All of him, he decided, felt the same way. He turned to his oldest friend.

                “What if we were?” he asked timidly. He knew—hoped—he would understand what he meant. “What if—if what they said—was true?”

                Crowley did not even look at him as he said, “Aziraphale, no offense, but that’s the silliest ‘what if’ I’ve ever heard.”

                Unfortunately, his meaning went straight over the angel’s head. Aziraphale felt like he’d been completely shot down. He was flustered, and cold, because he had thought he’d really understood this time. He replied, a bit hurt and a bit affronted, “Crowley!”

                “Things wouldn’t be much different, I mean. From my end, anyway.”

                Aziraphale was still missing his point. He was mortified. “Are—are you saying, you wouldn’t treat someone any differently, if you loved them?” He tried to speak with the imposing tone of a Principality. His voice shook, instead. “You don’t need to act so above it all, you know. I don’t really believe that you’re immune to the possibility of love. And it’s—it’s not something to be so derisive about, anyway. I would have thought you knew that….”

                Crowley finally turned to him. He gave the angel a speculative look.

                Aziraphale went on sadly, “Of all the things in this world you figured out well before I did, I thought maybe...maybe you knew, this time, something I didn’t….”

                Crowley sat up. Aziraphale could hardly bare to look at him, but he did so, anyway.

                The demon was wearing half a grin. Aziraphale gave him a confused look.

                Crowley, with more patience than a demon was supposed to have, reached over and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re full of contradictions, angel. You know that?”

                Aziraphale did not know what to say. He looked at him helplessly. Crowley did not explain. He moved himself further down the sofa, closer to him. He did not look up for a minute. Aziraphale did not say anything, but he also did not move. Crowley’s head was tilted downward, but he gave a small cough, then raised his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s.

                “Does experience,” Crowley said, “count as ‘figuring it out’ enough for you?”

                Aziraphale stared at him. Neither one of them breathed. Aziraphale’s mind had found all of the pieces. He slowly clicked them into place.

                Crowley had always had a lot to say about things. He was always trying to figure it all out, looking for answers, where Aziraphale had been willing to accept things as they were. He’d grown to admire Crowley for that. Always saying what was on his mind. It gave them more to talk about.

                Aziraphale realized, for the first time—as he stared at him, his eyes full of words and a question—that Crowley had not always said everything he had been thinking.

                “Ah.” The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched. Aziraphale felt his breath catch. “I see.”

                Crowley smiled. “ _Good_ ,” he said. There was still uncertainty on his face as he leaned forward. He paused, closed his eyes tightly. He slowly, carefully, rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

                Aziraphale took a deep breath. He wore the smallest of smiles.

                Then he kissed him.

                They kissed each other like they had been meant to for millennia, which, they realized, they both felt they had.

                Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and held him closer. Crowley’s hand was in between them, pressed against Aziraphale’s chest. He moved it upward, and touched Aziraphale’s face, first with the tips of his fingers, then with the side of his hand. He moved his thumb gently over Aziraphale’s cheek, his palm against his the bottom of his jaw. Aziraphale moved one arm up Crowley’s back and put his hand against the back of Crowley’s neck. He used the other to hold him more tightly.

                It shouldn’t have felt like a long time, to an angel or a demon. But it did.


	7. Chapter 7

9:00 AM

                Crowley sat next to Aziraphale, his head resting on his shoulder, his eyes half shut. Aziraphale had buried his face in the demon’s hair. He had one of Crowley’s hands grasped in both of his own. Crowley turned his face more towards Aziraphale’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

                The windowless room was still dark. But he had seen the light creeping in from under the doorway.

                He felt Aziraphale lift his head.

                “It’ll be almost nine by now.”

                Crowley tensed, but Aziraphale held his hand more tightly.

                “What should we do?” Crowley asked.

                Aziraphale did not reply for a moment. Then, he sighed. “I don’t know.”

                He loosened his grip on Crowley’s hand. Crowley sat up and put his arm around his shoulders.

                “It’ll be all right,” he said. “We’ve gotten out of worse than this, haven’t we?”

                Aziraphale tried to put on a brave face. Crowley couldn’t resist. He kissed the top of his head.

                “I love you, angel,” he said in a low voice. “Just, by the way. Since we didn’t actually say it before.”

                “Oh,” Aziraphale said. He blushed. “We didn’t, did we? My goodness.” He met Crowley’s gaze and beamed at him. “I love you, too, my dear.”

                That, being looked at straight in the face, with a look like that, by the person he loved—this, while being perfectly spectacular—was also too much for Crowley. His face turned very warm and he looked down, trying not to grin like an idiot. But he did squeeze Aziraphale’s shoulder more tightly.

                “Right,” he said. “That’s. That’s that, then.”

                "I have a feeling,” Aziraphale said, sounding amused, “that I’m going to say that more than once, you know.”

                “Right,” Crowley replied, his voice not at all concealing his embarrassment.

                “Just to warn you. If you thought that was all.”

                “Sssshhhhhhhh,” Crowley hissed, and he buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder, and felt the angel shake as he tried not to laugh at him too hard. But he froze as they heard a sound.

                It was a car horn outside, and there was no knock following it. They both remained tense.

                “I love you,” Aziraphale said, his voice shaking. As though to be good to his word. As though he thought this would be his last chance to say it.

                “You know, we’re gonna have millennia,” Crowley said. “For me to get used to you saying that, Aziraphale. I won’t. But we’ll have millennia, anyway.”

                He stood up, and held out his hand. Aziraphale smiled up at him and took it, and Crowley was relieved that the angel’s hand was no longer shaking.

                “Thank you, Crowley,” he said, as the demon helped him up. “And, if I don’t get out of this—I’ll always be glad I said it.”

                “You’re going to be—“

                But he was cut off by a knock coming from the other room, from the front door. The two looked at each other. Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders.

                “You need to get out of here.”

                “Psh.” Crowley put on a nervous grin and waved his hand in the air. “Not a chance.”

                “Crowley, you don’t understand. I’m—I’m going to tell them the truth.” Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t know what else to do, I’m afraid. It could be dangerous for you.”

                “You said we usually work well together. You were right.”

                “Yes, but we didn’t solve anything this time. We only—“

                “We figured out the truth.” Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t we?”

                Aziraphale blinked. “Well,” he said, with a slight look of wonder. “What do you know?”

                There was another knock.

                “If you’re going to stay here,” Aziraphale said, “at least let me talk to them first. And, er, maybe stay behind me a bit. The heavenly host tend to be startled by demons and can be, er, a tad overhasty.”

                Crowley didn’t argue, and he followed Aziraphale as he walked to the front room. He stopped halfway across the room, and Aziraphale continued and opened the door.

                Paniel and Daniel were standing there, Paniel with an embarrassed, grimace-like smile on her face, and Daniel looking impatient and apathetic at the same time.

                “Aziraphale! You are here,” Paniel said in a forced bright tone. “I told you he’d answer,” she whispered to Daniel, then, turning back, said “Daniel insisted on knocking twice. I didn’t want to be rude, but, you know, business is business, and we haven’t got all day.”

                Daniel had caught sight of Crowley standing in the background. He raised an eyebrow, and wore a distasteful expression, but he did not seem surprised. Crowley wasn’t sure if this was a good sign.

                “Why don’t you come in?” Aziraphale said, in a tired tone. He added, in a sharper one, “On one condition—you don’t harm him.”

                Daniel moved in front of Paniel and pushed aside the arm Aziraphale had thrown out to stop them, rolling his eyes. Paniel nodded and followed him.

                “There’s no need. We’re not here on a demon-thwarting mission.”

                “That was supposed to be _your_ job,” Daniel muttered.

                Aziraphale closed the door and walked to the center of the room, standing in between angels and demon. Crowley was reminded in a flash of the end-of-the-world-that-wasn’t. The angel and he had walked forward, with the brave humans who had stood their ground as well, to stand between Lucifer and the world. With Aziraphale in front of him, now, Crowley was impressed by how steady he seemed.

                “I have made a decision,” Aziraphale said to them, “and before I go with you to my trial, I have something to say. Once I have said it, I will accept whatever consequences you deem necessary, without complaint.”

                Crowley coughed.

                “Unless the consequences are,” Aziraphale added, a bit fussily, “that I am banned from Earth, which I would really rather not be. Erm, actually.”

                Paniel and even Daniel looked bemused.

                “Um. Anyway.” Aziraphale’s voice had grown less certain. Crowley could not see his face from here. _We walked forward together_ , Crowley thought. _I should be up there with him_. And, seized from a bravery that had a bit to do with how many action movies he watched, and a bit to do with some of the more romantic ones, too, Crowley took a few steps forward until he was at the angel’s side.

                “I will tell you the truth,” Aziraphale said. His voice was low. “As angels should do.” His brow furrowed, and he said, in a voice more like a Principality, “I should have no reason to hide it. I do love him.” He turned, to look back at Crowley, and seemed surprised and pleased to see that he was now standing next to him. He smiled at him. “I do.”

                Crowley looked at his warrior-turned-bookseller angel, and smiled, too.

                A noise like a cough came from the other angels.

                “We _know_ ,” said the voice of Daniel, in the tone of a teenager who has had to listen to a very long lecture.

                “Erm. Yes.” Aziraphale turned back to them. “Because I just told you.”

                “No,” Paniel said, “we knew before.”

                “Er, well, you may have guessed, perhaps, but now I’ve told you—“

                “We knew for certain.”

                Crowley could sense the familiar irritable tension building up like static electricity inside of his angel. He almost laughed, partly because it was funny to see him puffing himself up, and partly to release the nervous fear that had been bubbling up inside him for the past few minutes.

                “Oh really?” Aziraphale snapped. “How, may I ask?”

                Paniel shrugged, then gestured to Crowley, who instinctively flinched.

                “You called _him_ for help.”

                Aziraphale froze. He looked at Crowley. “Oh.”

                “Almost immediately after we left.”

                Crowley looked back at him. He gave an awkward grin, teeth clenched. “Not our best move?”

                “Lacked a certain subtlety,” Aziraphale agreed. “My fault, really.”

                “To be fair, you didn’t know we were in love when you did it, so you couldn’t exactly see how obvious it may have looked to—“

                “ _Can_ we get back to the business at hand?” Daniel said.

                Paniel, who had been watching them and tilting her head farther and farther to the side, like a dog hearing a strange new sound, snapped out of it and straightened out. “Right,” she said. “To business. Aziraphale.”

                Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm. Daniel gave him a look. It was, for once, more curious than disdainful.

                “You were summoned to appear at a trial,” Paniel was saying. “Now that you have confessed to being in love with a demon, which is what your trial was for, that would hardly have been necessary. However, that is not why we came here this morning. New matters have come to light, and the situation has, er—changed.”

                Crowley looked back and forth at the awkward expressions on the two angels. They seemed almost abashed. A small flutter of hope rose in his chest. He could not believe it. When all seemed lost, when it really seemed like this was going to be the end, the last hurrah, could something really have come up to save them, _again_? _Don’t get hopeful too soon_ , he thought grimly.

                “You see,” Paniel said, looking more embarrassed than ever. “We’ve received some orders regarding the situation from—Above.”

                Crowley made a face. “ _Higher_ Above?”

                Daniel grimaced. He said, with obvious frustration, “About as high as you can go.”

                Crowley froze. He heard a small intake of breath from Aziraphale. It sounded optimistic, but Crowley could not help feeling nervous at the words.

                “Apparently,” Paniel said, slowly, “the situation between the two of you is. Ah. Not as intolerable as we had naturally assumed it would be—no matter how objectionable it may seem.”

                The words seemed to ring through the air. The silence that followed lasted at least half a minute. Daniel was starting to look bored again.

                “What?” Crowley said, putting so eloquently the thought that he and Aziraphale had both been wrestling with.

                “You heard her,” Daniel said.

                Paniel, who was less accustomed to the human habit of saying ‘what’ from lack of comprehension rather than lack of hearing, repeated, “Your situation is not intolerable.”

                Aziraphale squinted. “Which means…?”

                “Which means,” said Daniel, who was still staring at Crowley with a piercing look—not one that was intimidating, but unfathomably curious—“that it seems the two of you are off the hook.”

                Crowley stared at him. He felt like his dread was slowly leaving him, like air through a very tiny hole in a balloon. He felt giddy. He almost laughed out loud. If he had said anything at all, it would have been the least composed he had been in a very long time.

                Aziraphale, on the other hand, gave a small cough, then clasped his hands together. “Oh. Excellent.”

                Crowley gawked at him. The other angels shifted uncomfortably.

                “Grand,” Daniel said.

                “Yes,” Paniel said slowly. Then, with a smile, “I suppose it is!”

                Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to beam. He kept watching the other angels as though he were afraid they were going to change their mind, but he took Crowley’s hand and squeezed it.

                “Of course,” Paniel said, becoming serious, “we don’t want this to necessarily set a precedent.”

                “But, for now, we have no further actions to pursue against either of you.” Daniel turned to Aziraphale. “As long as you do not show too much propensity towards _this one’s_ beliefs, and do not drift too much towards _his side_ —supposedly, the inevitable exchange of some of your respective ideas and qualities will, because you are both in this together, create a balance.”

                “In other words, you may influence him as much as he may—reshape—you, so things should even out for both sides.”

                “Which is apparently acceptable,” Daniel said tartly.

                “Oh, yeah,” Crowley said with a grin. “You gotta have the dark with the light.”

                Daniel gave him a withering look.

                Paniel turned sharply to Aziraphale. “You must maintain a perfect balance, you understand. If ever you slip too far, if the discrepancy becomes too great, this stipulation of our tolerance will have to be revoked.”

                Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. He turned to Crowley. “Well, you hear that, my dear. You’d better be sure you don’t become too enlightened. Don’t be tempted towards good manners or virtues, because I am certainly not planning on sinking too far into the depths of depravity, and we wouldn’t want to upset the balance, would we?”

                Crowley gave a goofy half-grin, and the angels sputtered.

                “W-well,” Paniel said. “We wouldn’t be opposed to you imparting more of our virtues to _him_.”

                “But that’s not what Higher Up said, was it?” Aziraphale put just enough emphasis on the word ‘higher’ to make the other angels wrinkle their noses. “They said balance.”

                “Even Steven,” Crowley added, helpfully.

                Paniel puffed out her cheeks, her lips squeezed together very tightly. Then, she let out her breath, her shoulders drooping. “Look,” she said, “I really have no idea what the two of you are doing—or thinking—but I have my orders, and I’ve told you what you need to know. So, I guess, we’re good, right?”

                “Do you mean,” Aziraphale said, “’we’re good’ as in we’ve finished our business here, or meaning that we will leave on good terms with one another?”

                “Oh, I hope we can remain on good terms,” Paniel said. “This whole thing was unpleasant, but it was only business, you know?”

                Aziraphale looked like he had a retort preparing itself, but Paniel turned to Crowley before he could say whatever it was.

                “And,” she said, “er, I suppose we ought to be on good terms, too, shouldn’t we? At least, I hope we can.”

                Both Crowley and Aziraphale were somewhat stunned. Aziraphale was pacified, and Crowley gave her a small smile. Paniel looked relieved. She nudged Daniel.

                “Oh, all right,” he said.

                Paniel beamed. “Right. Then, we’ll leave you two to your—“ She blushed. “—Erm, we’ll leave. Daniel!”

                “Yes,” said Daniel, who was amused for the first time. “Shall we?”

                “Yes,” said Paniel, and the both of them walked out the door.

                It clanged shut, ringing the bell.

                And then they were alone.

                Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “Well—“ he said, and then Crowley kissed him.

 

                Not so long later, after they had adjusted to the several great revelations of the past day, night and morning—which for Crowley, had consisted of walking around the room many times, and for Aziraphale, had been making several pots of tea—the two of them went back into the back room and sat on the sofa together.

                “Well, I don’t mind one thing they said,” Crowley said, trying to distract himself from the butterflies he was still getting from Aziraphale looking at him, with that soft smile.

                “What’s that?”

                Crowley grinned. “We’re in this together.”

                Aziraphale nodded. He took Crowley’s hand, rubbing it gently with his thumb. Crowley’s heart leapt.

                “Whatever ‘this’ is.”

                “I think—“ Aziraphale mused. “I think—that it may be life.”

                They had plenty to discuss. They had a whole future to look into. But for now, they also had the present. There were plenty of ways to fill up time for those who had been not-quite enemies for a long time, and had only now discovered what they actually were.

                And, after all, they would have millennia.


End file.
